


Good Ideas

by ghosty



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Dom/sub, Drabble, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied Sexual Content, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosty/pseuds/ghosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr ask prompt! </p><p>
  <i>Zack and Miri: initially platonic friends filming porn for cash.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> An old fill I did for anon on tumblr months and months ago! I decided it was a very, very good excuse to write some French Fries :)

He’s not sure what made him think this was a good idea to begin with — but, as usual, there he is, shoulders locked and heart racing in overtime and Sasha restraining laughter before the cameras start rolling and she hides her mirth. It was a tried and true formula that Sasha’s bright eyes and not-wholly-innocent pleas were an effective method of making his judgment go out the window. Out the 40 story building. Off the boardwalk. Into the ocean. The depths of hell, and Satan’s asshole. Either way, the biggest problem is that the not-good-idea is not that Sasha is standing in a perfectly clean kitchen in a cute sundress and frilly apron, nor that he is dressed to the nines and carrying condoms in his pocket — it is the simple fact that she is nothing but captivating right now in a way he had never cared to think about.

Remember the bills, he reminded himself. Remember the rent. Phone payment. Car. Remember, remember. And he hears the sound of dishes clinking in the sink, water running, the soft humming that comes from this girl, who flirtatiously glances his way and sends his blood running too-hot. His feet are moving before he can make them, and the expensive material clicks on the tile floor — the kitchen is huge, he notices as the strides toward her take forever — and the background of cameras and silent film-makers and the director all fade away as his hands take a tight hold on the precise curve of her waist and he rests his lower body right up against her. One hand remains, squeezing warningly as she nearly drops a plate ( _Is she still acting? Was that real?_ ) and the other crawls up to her shoulder to drape down the little sleeve of her dress and expose her skin to his mouth.

He moves to it, and recalls his lines, and they don’t feel like lines at all. His erection is already straining in his fitted black slacks, and he scarcely thinks of how she can probably feel it, and how in a few moments he’ll be tugging off his silk tie and knotting it around her wrists. It’s all natural. It’s all too easy. It all feels horribly right. And Jean; poor, love-struck, lustful Jean all but commands her as she tenses in his arms and he murmurs against her ear. 

“Good evening, dear. Tell me, why are you dressed right now? Tell me — did I not explicitly state that you were to be ready and waiting for me when I got home? No excuses. Punishment is in order. Now… on your knees."

She's shaking against him, but her skin is hot and he knows. He puts on his best crooked smile and lets his lips drift over her earring as he finishes, "And say ‘thank you, _sir_.’”


End file.
